


The First Lady's First Lady

by elicul



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/F, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Size Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:32:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8470450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elicul/pseuds/elicul
Summary: A happy poly fic about the Hamiltons after the war but before Washington is elected president. Circa "Non-Stop" Title subject to change.  "She's a married woman," Alexander shouts, too wound up to climb into bed beside his wife. "I know that, of course. But they also know that.""Martha's insane.""You should have heard the way she was talking, Alexander," Eliza insists as she pulls her hair back into a scarf. "Like... like it was...""A scandal waiting to happen," he offers."Like they were happy."





	1. Chapter 1

Alexander gathers up all the papers from his work desk to shove them into his ratty old case. Burr had left it in Alexander’s chair one day with a note pinned through a worn part of the leather flap. It said, “You will lose us this case if you keep shuffling loose papers back and forth from work and home. A. Burr” Passive aggression at its finest. Alexander snorts as he looks at the note still attached to the front of the case, but then he remembers something he meant to write down and scrawls it onto the back of the page at the top of the pile. Hopefully he can find it later, he thinks as he dumps the pile unceremoniously into the case and heads out the door. His cross-examination questions ring in his ears for his two block walk home. As usual when he travels, he pays no mind to his surroundings until he suddenly finds himself on his own front door step. 

“Eliza, love,” he calls, setting his keys and pen down on the dark wood table just in the foyer. 

“In here, Alex, dear.” Her voice sounds from the kitchen off to his left. “How was your day, sweetheart?” Eliza asks him as he puts his case on the countertop, right in her way as she moves like snow flurries through the room. She shifts the bag to the side and continues bustling around the kitchen with Philip balanced on her hip.

“There’s no one with me.”

“Oh.” She seems disappointed. “Then why did you say ‘Eliza, love’?”

Alexander shrugs. “I cannot say sweet things to my wife?”

“I just meant that you don’t usually do it unless you’re performing.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and bows his head. “Performing?” He is exhausted, and with a to do list a mile long. Eliza stops for a beat to watch him, but he doesn’t see. 

“You know, for your lawyer friends,” she says. Philip wiggles and gurgles from his place snug up against his mother. Eliza bounces a lock of her hair in front of Philip who happily grabs at it and yanks. 

“Want me to take him?” Alexander asks, reaching for his son. She hands him over. “Hey there, little man. Driving mama crazy for me while I’m at work?”

Philip babbles happily. 

“Angelica says he reminds her of me as a baby. Happy and awake all hours. I told her that he absolutely takes after you. More energy than’s good for him, and you both look the same around the eyes.”

“When’d you last hear from her?”

“Day before last I got a letter. You got one today.”

“And you’re just telling me?”

“You just walked through the door. You prefer I shove it under your nose the second you arrive home? I wanted to talk to you first.”

“What about?”

“No, Alexander. Like, talk to you. Hear about your day. Tell you about mine and Philip’s. Talking. Like married people do. What’s the point of us coming down to the city for the spring if not to be with you, to see you from time to time? Heaven knows Philip and I like it better in the country.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

She tuts. “‘How was your day, Eliza?’” she asks, mimicking her husband’s accent. Philip claps and wriggles around in Alexander’s bouncing lap. She sometimes reads stories to him in that voice, when Alexander hasn’t bothered to come home from the office to sleep in almost a week.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. He tips his son backward so he’s dangling upside down over his lap, happy feet kicking against Alexander’s stomach. “What did you and Flip get up to today?” Philip shrieks delightedly.

“We had breakfast in the garden because Philip saw a goldenfinch and kept yelling “la la” until I let him outside.”

“‘La la,’ huh?” He looks at Philip who has just been pulled back upright. “Making up words again? Going to make a new language for us to speak instead of this God forsaken English?”

“Alexander!”

“What? It would be good to get away from this language. Doesn’t make a lick of sense. Lafayette’s a brave man, bothering to learn it.”

“He’s brave for other reasons as well.”

“Do your affections stray?” he teases her. 

“Naturally. My bags are all packed. We leave for France in the morning.”

Alexander nuzzles his face just below Philip’s ear and half growls so his voice vibrates and tickles. “I’ll miss you, my son.” Eliza laughs, so he continues. He holds Philip at arms length just above his head, so he can look up into his son’s eyes. “Apple of my eye, second love of my life, you wouldn’t dare leave me, would you? Do you want to go live in nasty France with your silly mother?”

Philip claps.

“Looks like he’s picked sides,” Eliza beams. 

“I want a divorce before you go. I’ll represent us. You can have five bucks and your mother’s china, you know how I detest cleaning it, and this tiny monster.”

“Don’t joke,” she says, swatting his shoulder with the rag she’s had draped over her shoulder. “Dinner’s about done. Take the apple of your eye and go wash."

“And speaking of washing,” she continues as her son and husband return to help lay the table, “How is our dear George?”

Alexander blanches for a moment.

“Martha invited us ‘round for dinner,” Eliza says, taking her seat at the head of the table opposite Alexander, instead of the seat to his right, which remained empty. “I sent word back that you would be joining us, so please be home at a decent hour on Friday. I’ll pick up some whiskey for George. What kind does he prefer again?”

“An Irish import, if you can. He’ll get a laugh out of it.”

“Martha asked we leave Flip behind…” She nudges at Philip’s cheek with her knuckle as she says his name. 

“Something serious, then?”

“She sounded like her usual self,” Eliza says, evidently trying to recall, “But who knows with her. George is far easier to read.”

Alexander laughs but does not dispute his wife. After drinks with the Washington’s, he often needed translations of his conversations with Martha. The woman was sharp, so rarely spoke on just one plane of thought. More to himself than anything else, he says, “And they say lawyers talk in circles.”

“George is quiet, these days, is he not?”

Alexander shakes his head, “I don’t know how he stands it, but yes, he is quiet now. There are rumors of him ruling, but for the moment, he rests.”

“Have you heard the Madisons are staying with the Jeffersons for the summer.”

“Does this interest me?”

“I thought it might.” Eliza shrugs as she stands from the table to bring Philip in for his bath. While his wife and son are occupied, Alexander begins straightening up in the kitchen, clearing counters and cleaning dishes until everything is back in working order. The washing calms him. Laundry too, though he is often without time to do it himself and leaves it to the maid or his wife. 

By the time he’s finished, a dripping wet, towel-clad toddler peels through the kitchen as fast as his wobbly legs can take him, Eliza playfully chasing after him taking minuscule steps and roaring. As she passes, Alexander catches her around the waist and tilts her chin up. “I love you,” he says, kissing her lightly between the eyes. She pulls back, blushing and looking up at him through her eyelashes. 

“I love you too.”

Alexander presses his thumb to her lower lip and pulls it down before kissing her again, her mouth sweet and warm against his. 

She pushes back from him, but only gets so far with his arms wrapped at the small of her back. “Alexander, please. I have a two year old to catch.” He kisses her again. “Could get hurt,” she mumbles against his mouth, not kissing him back, but passively taking it. He releases her and she falls back a little, heels clicking on the kitchen floor and she tears out of the room after their son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> questions, comments, your favorite non-hamilton sing lyric, and concerns all welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i messed up. i was so sure John Laurens died in March. it was August. oh well. I'm tagging for historical inaccuracies and leaving them uncorrected. sorry!

Dinner with the Washingtons is a quiet affair. The meal is delicately prepared by Martha herself, though not as good as Eliza's dinners when they are entertaining guests, the night proceeds smoothly.

After, George and Martha stand and look at their guests who scramble to their feet as well. “Hamilton, a word?” George asks, nodding at their coats hanging by the stairs and waiting at the bottom of them for Alexander to catch up. Together the two men go up to George’s study where he pours two glasses of amber liquor and leads Alexander out to the second story balcony. 

Outside it is crisp, but tolerable. Early spring weather. George stands over by the railing, drinking and staring out onto the estate. They listen as the kitchen door around back opens and shuts as their wives go out for a stroll around the back garden, as Martha tends to do, with or without guests, after supper. 

Alexander hesitates with his hand on the doorknob behind his back, unsure of what has George so contemplative. “Sir?”

“Come look at this view, Alexander. I feel I don’t appreciate it enough.”

He takes a half-step forward, unsure. “Sir?”

“Come. Look. The moon rises from just behind those trees.” George gestures out onto the expanse of land as he speaks. "The woods are pitch black this time of night, but the garden is bathed in moonlight. Our wives will be well.”

“I didn’t know I was to be worried.”

George finishes his drink. “Well, in case you were, no need now.”

“Are you well, Sir?”

“‘George', tonight, I beg.”

“But,” Alexander starts.

“Hamilton, follow this order tonight. I am too weary to fight you on it.”

“What ails you, George? You seem anxious.”

“Our wives are conspiring.”

“Oh?”

“Nothing to bother ourselves with now. Martha is a force of nature, once she set her mind on, well, never mind. Drink, drink. I have an unpleasant matter to discuss with you, and I doubt you will appreciate having to do it sober. But careful, mind you, you know how I dislike…”

“Untidy drunks, yessir, George. I know,” Alexander says before raising his glass to his lips and drinking as much as his tongue and throat could tolerate.

“Let’s sit,” George says, pointing out the two chairs and table set up in the corner. They drag the furniture closer to the banister. "Do you know what today is, Alexander?"

"A special date, today, George?"

"I wouldn't go so far as 'special.' Let me refill our drinks." He disappears inside, returning with Alexander's glass significantly more filled than his own. "John Laurens," he says by way of explanation.

"Then, yes, I know what today is. Peculiar that you would remember the anniversary of his death."

George nods. "I try to remember things about you."

"About me, Sir? George."

"He was one of your closest friends, was he not?”

Alexander leans forward in his chair, eyes bright with passion, maybe filling with tears. There is no light outside except in Alexander’s eyes. “My most intimate friend. I trusted John with my life.” He sits back, takes a cautious sip from his drink, then a more generous one. “Though, I don’t understand the relevance of his death in this moment.”

George keeps his eyes carefully on his hands, which rest on the table. His voice is softer, older, when he speaks again. “Have you mourned him?”

A bitter laugh erupts from somewhere inside Alexander. “I hold on to John as tightly as ever. I have a journal I fill with thoughts of him. My Betsey wonders about it, and I’ve told her vaguely of its contents, but I have asked her not to read it. It is not my intention to break her heart.”

“Drink, Alex,” George says. When Alexander obeys, he nods approvingly. “Was Laurens happy you married?”

“Only my Betsey calls me Alex.”

“Apologies.” He finishes his own drink. “Did Laurens attend your wedding?”

“John was otherwise engaged at the time. Honestly, I hadn’t even thought to invite him. The wedding was in the midst of the war. And I am not certain he approved.”

“By this, you mean…” George leads. 

“My Betsey is a handsome, generous, well born woman. Our marriage was fit. Still, though, John worried one mere woman could not satisfy me.”

Alexander looks a little more pliant, he speaks with candor and euphemism in a delicate, eloquent balance, even given his intoxication. A strange sense of pride wells up inside George. He asks, “May I speak freely?”

“I am in your home.”

“Did you love him?”

“Naturally.”

“Do you understand my meaning?”

“I do.” Alexander stares off into the front yard. He can hear his wife and Martha laughing from somewhere behind the house, still outside enjoying the night air. He wonders, for a moment, what women speak of. If it is as difficult a conversation as he and George are having. “I loved him.”

“Have you loved others?”

“Betsey.”

“Aside from your wife.”

Alexander thinks on this a moment. “A childhood friend, maybe. You know how young boys are, we were close, but I don’t know that I loved him. I was too young. I didn’t know of love until I met John.”

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while. Alexander finishes his drink, but does not ask for more. When he sniffles and wipes at his nose with the ink stained sleeve of his shirt, George becomes entirely preoccupied with a scratch in the table. The kitchen door opens and shuts and their wives voices fill the house. 

George breaks the silence. “I do believe our wives have returned.”

“I think you’re right. Shall we go join them?”

“Alexander?”

“Yes?”

“My wife offered something to Eliza tonight. An opportunity, of sorts. I pray you consider it a serious offer and think on it thoroughly.”

“Sir?”

“Just, promise me, you’ll think about it.”

“Yes, Sir. George.”

George yawns exaggeratedly, only half trying to conceal it. “I must retire soon. I will see you and Mrs. Hamilton out.”

The two men rise and head into the house, not bothering to move the furniture back into its original spot. They bring their glasses down to the kitchen where Martha takes them. She is red in the cheeks from the wind and nods surreptitiously at her husband, who gives a single nod back. 

“Eliza, my love, we simply must have you and Mr. Hamilton around again for dinner so soon,” Martha gushes. 

Eliza’s wind-whipped, ruddy face manages to turn a little redder still. She gazes at the floor as Alexander comes around behind her and puts his hand at her waist. They all say their good nights and the Hamiltons begin their trek home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> questions, comments, stories about your most chaotic ex, concerns all welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

"She's a married woman," Alexander shouts, too wound up to climb into bed beside his wife. 

"I know that, of course.” She takes out her earrings and leaves them in the seashell that Alexander had carried with him since the war. Something about John Laurens. He had sort of mumbled his explanation when he left it tied with a silk bow on the bedside table. She used it to hold her jewelry, especially careful to never let harm come to it. “But they also know that. George knew she was a married woman, and he courted her for years, she said.”

“He can’t have, they met a few months after Martha’s first husband died.”

“Or that’s just the story they tell now. Think of it, how it would make her look, all these men in her life.”

“‘All these men'? Good Lord, how many?”

Eliza smiles, “Oh, just a spare. In case. And women.”

“Mercy.”

"Anyway, she swears George went so far as to practically appeal, to beg, to be her second husband."

“George? Beg? Martha’s insane."

"You should have heard the way she was talking, Alexander," Eliza insists as she pulls her hair back into a scarf. "Like... like it was..."

"A scandal waiting to happen," he offers.

"Like they were happy."

“More proof of insanity,” he huffs, finally getting into bed. They lie on their sides facing one another, whispering until dawn about what Martha had told Eliza. They gossip like school children. As sunlight cascades in through their still undrawn curtains, the two remain on the same topic. 

“But, wait,” Alexander interrupts. “What of this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why would Martha confide in you all this?”

Eliza pretends to be appalled, hand over her heart, a look of surprise in her mouth and eyes. “Excuse me, I-“

“You are the most trustworthy,” he takes her hand from her chest and wraps both of his around it, kissing each knuckle as he speaks. “The most honorable, and honest, and principled woman I have met in my entire life.” Eliza smiles and gently pulls her hand back. He continues, “But, if they are being so secretive about this… ordeal, what makes them come clean now? And why to us?”

“She said she is taken with me.”

There’s a long stretch of silence. Alexander is torn between of course Martha is taken with my wife, Betsey is the gentlest soul and a hell of a lover and my boss’ wife is taken with my wife; she looks to take my wife. The battle within himself ends in stalemate. “What of me?”

“What of you? I’d still be your loving and devoted wife, I’d just have a sort of special bond with Martha, like you and John.”

“Don’t speak of him, I beg.”

“Alex, listen, I neither agreed nor disagreed. Martha would not have an answer tonight. But I know of you and John. I know how you loved him. And now, since you are no longer an aide to George, you have an opportunity to put that love toward someone else.”

“You.”

“Besides me,” she says, taking both of his hands in hers. “Martha said a bit of poetry tonight. Truly brilliant, she is. She said to me that she never wished to be the center of anyone’s universe, that the very idea of it exhausts her. Similarly, she cannot make any one person be the center of hers. Not even George. And with you and him away so often, it does her well to have someone else to hold at night.”

Alexander says nothing in reply. 

“Please, my love, all I ask is that you think about it. Think about allowing me to love Martha, because I truly believe I could love her. And of you, I’m sure George mentioned his interest in you when you spoke earlier.”

“He did no such thing!”

“He was supposed to, but Martha did suspect he would not.”

“It’s not like I can go along bringing up a topic like infidelity and sodomy to my superior. He would have made it clear if he’d been taken with me the way you say Martha is with you.”

“What did you talk about?”

Alexander thinks for a moment. Most of the conversation was about… John. About his being in love with John. About his having been with other men. God, Alexander should have noticed the line of questioning was peculiar. “We discussed John. It was the anniversary.”

Eliza nods slowly, her eyes filling rapidly with tears. “I know. I didn’t want to mention it.”

He pulls her closer so she lays with her head against his chest, his arms around her. “How about this, huh? How about we sleep now, and when we wake, we can discuss this further, alright?”

Eliza sniffles and pulls back to look into her husband’s eyes. “Alright. So long as you promise to sleep. You must rest, my love. Your eyes look so different when they’re weary. I can hardly recognize you.”

“Then turn about, and we shall sleep through the day.”

“Philip will wake us in an hour’s time, just you wait.”

Alexander kisses behind Eliza’s ear, which is now lined up with his mouth, their bodies aligned and slotted together in the center of the bed. They sleep easily the whole morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> questions, comments, a list of all the jewelry you're currently wearing, and concerns all welcome.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just used google translate for the french, forgive. also, short chapter, forgive again.

In early July, with Alexander away to Albany for meetings with her father, and after weeks of talking and negotiating boundaries, Eliza wakes up to the sound of linen shifting in a light breeze. The window is thrown open, she can feel it, but she is not ready to open her eyes yet. She breathes in the soft smell of lavender, of Martha, and reaches her hand out to run it along the fine fabric. 

Eliza rolls onto her back and stretches, arching off the bed, feet curled, and the position has her blushing instantly, reminiscing about her night with Martha. There were hands--soft, small--touching every inch of her body, pulling at her hair, fingers in her mouth, inside her. There were tongues, tangling together, searching, lapping and driving sounds out of Eliza that she'd forgotten she could make, a throbbing want and release as constant and steady as waves cresting and falling. The memory blurs now, in the sunlight, but Eliza smiles to know there will be more soon enough. 

She flops back onto the bed and outstretches as far as she can to her left, but the bed is cool and empty. Eyes open and searching, she climbs out of the enormous bed of George and Martha Washington. Barefoot and naked, Eliza roams out of the master bedroom and into the hall, listening for Martha, who assured her evening last that they would have the house to themselves until after church Sunday. 

She is warm, despite her nudity, as she navigates the house as easily as her own. Eliza and Martha spend almost every night together when the boys are away. Philip and Martha’s children play amicably despite their age difference. George is away to Virginia until evening. 

She comes into the kitchen to find Martha, dressed in one of George’s shirts and a pair of his breeches, making breakfast. Eliza wraps her arms around her girlfriend from behind and kisses the back of her shoulder. 

Martha hums contentedly and sighs, “Good morning, beautiful.”

“What are you wearing?”

Martha stops beating eggs and sets the bowl down, turning around in Eliza’s arms so they’re slow dancing together in the kitchen, lazily shifting their weight from one foot to the other. “I like to wear George’s clothes when I miss him. They smell like his sweat and favorite liquor and ink. Smell.”

Eliza takes a deep breath against Martha’s chest. “George is back tonight,” she says neutrally. Tonight she will have to sleep alone in her home. Lately, she feels as though she’s forgotten how to sleep without wrapping herself around either Alexander or Martha, feeling their warmth and their easy breath. 

“And Alexander is expected day after next,” Martha reminds. 

"I’m glad for it. I miss him terribly. Letters are not enough.”

“Tell me of him, mistress. What do you love about him?”

“He’ll call me dishonest if you tell, but I love how much hope he has, the love he has for this world. For all the Voltaire he reads, he believes in good. He saw beauty in me when I could not myself.”

“There was never a day one would question your beauty. He is not a smart man for that, he simply has eyes.”

Eliza laughs, head still against Martha’s chest. It’s an awkward bend, to stoop her neck so low, but the heat of Martha, the smell of George, the sound of her beating heart, it’s almost overwhelmingly human. 

“And how does he love? Tell me, is he gentle?”

A soft sigh escapes Eliza as she reluctantly pulls away to look at Martha, who has her eyes closed. “For all the comforts he provides me in the daylight, he is not so in bed.”

“Pray tell,” Martha says breathlessly. 

“He takes me. Again and again until all I can remember is the peculiar feel of pleasure-pain.” Eliza smiles coyly. “Like how you made me feel last night.”

When Martha opens her eyes, they are alight with mischief. “Five times.”

Eliza leans down and kisses her. “Six times.”

 

After breakfast, dressed properly for their days, the women and their combined three children retire to the shade of the garden to alternate reading Bible verses. Eliza practices French with Philip, which reminds Martha of the slew of praises whispered against her skin the night before. 

Vous êtes si belle. 

Je pourrais vous embrasser toute la nuit. 

Ne vous arrêtez pas.

 

Post arrives midday, a letter addressed to Eliza hidden between George and Martha’s letters. It is a short note, written hastily in Alexander’s elegant penmanship. “Tell Martha you have my blessing. However, you, my Betsey, may also use me as an excuse if you are uncomfortable with her latest proposal. Missing you and all the love that you provide, Alex.”

Eliza tries to put the letter out of her mind, knowing there’s nothing to be done until Martha sees fit to reveal the proposal. The afternoon wears on hazily in the summer sun. The children go to play in the sunflower garden, leaving Eliza and Martha free to kiss and touch one another beneath an apple tree by the house. 

“Eliza, my sweet, I do have an inquiry of you.”

Eliza hums to show she is listening, despite the sleepy expression gracing her beautiful face. Her head is in Martha’s lap, hair being toyed with, loosely braided and unbraided again and again. 

“You know you needn’t leave when George returns home, right? You are always welcome here now.”

Before replying, she opens her eyes and allows the afternoon light to blind her for a moment. “You know,” she says, “Being with you is very similar to turning one’s face up into the sun. Warm, overwhelming, a little painful, necessary.”

“Is this meant to be a compliment?” Martha asks.

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Stay tonight. With George and I. We asked the bed be made special to accommodate an extra guest. Of course, we said it was for George’s immense stature, but really, the bed will fit three comfortably. Think on it, won’t you, my love?”

“And of Alexander?”

“I wrote to him just before he left for Albany. I imagine the letter you received was his reply.”

“Don’t be coy, Martha. Tell me honest. Are you suggesting I be intimate with you and George in my husband’s absence?”

“With his knowing consent, of course.”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never been with a man but for my Alex.”

“Then let me be the first to tell you, all men are the same. It’s women who excite. And I will be with you the whole time. We can all just sleep, if you would prefer.”

“Patience, Martha. Let us just see what sort of condition George is in when he arrives.”

Martha smirks, but nods agreeably anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts, questions, comments, pictures of your pets in symbol format, and concerns all welcome


End file.
